


Shadow Caster

by Lonewolf_Deku



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Fantasy, Gen, My First AO3 Post, Not Beta Read, Original Fiction, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slavery, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25876672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lonewolf_Deku/pseuds/Lonewolf_Deku
Summary: "Maybe our struggling was fated before even the Gods could stop it...""Could it be that we were destined to fight?"Once whole, the continent of Maellya was split in two, both literally and figuratively. Magic is abundant and commonplace in the Southern continent, praised and welcomed. However, lurking in the second biggest kingdom on the Northern continent--Asphenia--is a benevolent king seated upon a stolen throne.A once-seasoned warrior gets thrown into a situation she could have never imagined. All of her comrades--her friends--dead, she is forced to face the wrath of the enemy.Her name is Thyria Orlin.Now a war prisoner, Thyria is sent to one of the worst places imaginable. Illyia.Once inside, Thyria discovers the atrocities hidden in the shadows of Asphenia and learns of her heritage.Evil clings to the darkness like fungi, and Thyria does everything in her power to get rid of it.





	Shadow Caster

**Author's Note:**

> So I started writing this work a while ago, and I haven't written much, but I'm currently in the planning stage, and this prologue is the heavily-edited (by me) first try. Any constructive criticism is welcome!
> 
> Also, this is my first ever post on AO3, so please forgive any formatting or tagging errors.
> 
> Also, in this first chapter there is a section that describes very graphic violence and gore.

Her heart.

Even in that silence – the silence accompanied by a ringing in her ears – she could still hear her heart rhythmically thumping against her rib cage. The sound of it was deafening, a migraine forming in the base of her skull. She’d rather be back with the Akaun brothers – twins from the kingdom of Utheniel, an enemy region that loved to torture their war prisoners to the cusp of death.

Only, in that time, she could see her surroundings clearer. Even in that darkness, the cold, empty feeling wasn't all she could feel. She could see them, the thin blades of grass, pressed against her face. It was in that time that she wished only for the moon to disappear – to hide its leering face behind the clouds. Basking in Atsin’s ethereal moonlight, the smatterings of crimson coating them only made those thin green blades seem ever sharper. 

It was laughable, in fact. Laughable, the compromising position she was in, burnt and bloody, her back turned against the world. She would have laughed, would have mocked herself, if she could in fact open her jaw.

It was cold that night – too cold. The windless air merely existing was enough to send shivers down her spine. She wanted it to stop. She wanted to stand up and walk away. She wanted to keep that ignorance, that icy indifference, and simply leave her problems behind. But of course, life had a different path for her to follow.

She tried to get up, but that simply led to her falling back again, forehead to the ground. Grunting against the pain, she bit her lip to keep from crying out. After forcing her head to the side, she spotted a glint of something shining through the blood-speckled grass. Metal, she thought.

Past that, she could distantly make out the silhouettes of men. Injured men and dead men alike – though it was hard to tell who was dead and who was living. It was silent. Too silent. There should have at least been the cries of the men, or the faint mutterings of survivors.

Wincing, she forced her arm out from underneath her—her working arm, anyway. On the way, her glove got caught on her breastplate and tore. The once previously flawless, black leather was split in half, discarded on the ground beside her. Her eyes wandered to the glove and widened. She reluctantly tore her gaze away from the leather and towards her hand. Her breath hitched as she saw the jagged scar adorning her hand. It had wrapped its rough claws around her thumb, starting just before her palm. It reached further up, up past her wrist, and up underneath her jacket sleeve. She closed her eyes in hope that she wouldn't hear them anymore. Those screams – from none other than herself – haunted her every hour.

\-------

 _"Stop! No! Plea-" her pleading was cut off by a gut-wrenching scream. She cried out as the pain surged up her body from her waist._ He's mad again, _she thought,_ But at who? I didn't do anything.

_"Stop that godsdamned screaming, girl! Didn't your parents ever tell you to shut up?" She was reluctant to answer the man's question but thought it best that she did.  
"Yes... Master," she yelped as the pain changed direction._

_It trailed up the right side of her body, creeping its way up her back. His calloused hands grabbed at her back, looking for a handhold. She could almost hear the sneer on his face as he found what he was looking for. He found purchase in one of the newly opened lacerations on her back. He forced his fingers in between the skin and muscle, causing the young girl to scream. He dug his fingers through her back, separating the layers. He smirked as the girl wailed and writhed._

_All the while, she had a knife being dragged up the side of her body, cutting through her shoulder and going up her arm. She struggled as the knife went further and further down her arm. Her hands were tied to a pole situated at the end of the stone table, bound with rope._

_"I wonder if you'll scream more if I cut off one of your pretty little fingers?" the man drawled, "Let's see, shall we?"_

_The girl's pleads were instantaneously cut off by more screaming. She stared in horror as he went to drag the knife around her thumb. He grunted as it was stopped by the rope. He grabbed the girl's wrists and cut the rope with the knife and continued with the knife's original path. The knife stopped before the palm of the girl's hand and was pushed it in. He was digging and twisting it around, muttering. She screamed as it dug into the bone of her thumb. She heard a crack, and she screamed out again._

_All of a sudden, the knife stopped. The man sighed, pulling out the blade again. He reached down to the box below the table putting the knife down and looking for another rope. The girl took this moment to look around. Her eyes were blurry from her tears, but she saw the faint outline of a door lit up by a torch held on the wall. She gulped and looked back at the man. He was still searching for the rope._

Now's my chance, _the girl thought._

_She wrenched her arms out of the man's grip with what little strength she had, crying out at the pain in her arms. She could barely move, but nonetheless stumbled towards the doorway. She cried out for help, but no answer came. All that could be heard was the man cursing as he ran towards the girl. He had knocked over the box in the process, smashing the vials that were carefully placed in it._

_"Damn it," he hissed. The girl heard the familiar sound of leather dragging on the ground. She struggled again to the doorway, speeding up ever so slightly. She cried out in pain as the thick leather coiled around her leg, making her tumble to the ground. She tried to drag herself those few last metres to the door, reaching out in a last-ditch attempt to make it to her goal._

_She felt the familiar pull of the man's calloused hands around her ankle, dragging her back to him, away from the door. She let out a strangled sob as her goal got further and further away. She looked back to the man behind her. Pushing herself up with the last of her strength, she clamped down hard on his wrist with her teeth. She winced as she tasted the iron-like liquid fill her mouth. The man swore and threw his fist down onto the girl's head. Her jaw loosened as she slowly slipped from consciousness._

\-------

She closed her eyes to try and get rid of the tears collecting there. She cried out as she looked out at the glinting metal in the bloodstained grass. Biting her lip, she pushed her arm towards it. Her fingers scrambled to grasp the silver object. Her exposed hand clasped around the cool metal, gripping with all her might. She brought her underneath her chest and used it for leverage. The girl groaned as she brought herself to her knees. Breathing heavily, she examined the metal in her hand. A sword.

Though bloodstained, she could see that the sword was a simple silver, with gleaming rubies embedded in the hilt. She dragged it up into her lap. She used a scrap of cloth from her shirt to wipe it clean. Near the hilt, dried blood was still caked into it, revealing a set of symbols. _A name?_ she thought, _It might be, but whatever language these symbols are, I can't read it._

Sighing, she put her hand down on the ground next to her, pushing up. She grunted at the weight of her own body; her arm was weak–most likely broken–and it hurt to use. Standing to her feet, she was forced to look down at the ground again. A hand was clasped around her ankle, holding on for dear life. She saw a man, bloody armour adorning his body, trying to talk to her. It barely came out as a whisper, but she could hear it. She could hear it. She stared wide-eyed at the man below her, clawing at her boot, and strained to listen to his voice.

 _"Take... it,"_ he whispered, "Take... it."

"Take what?" she croaked out, confused.

"The... sword. My... sword. Please, just... take it. Use it... for better... than I did. Please," she could only nod as the man unlatched his hand, falling silent. She was confused – confused at the man's actions, confused about the seemingly normal sword. She stood straight and took a step forward.

Through the dark, she could see the once raging battlefield. It was now quiet, almost silent. But she could once again hear the groans of injured soldiers. Bodies littered the field scattered in the distance; the death was only stopped by the mountain range at the other side. Swords were sticking out of the ground, shields lying tattered and broken. Banners, once proud colours, were torn and burnt, completely unidentifiable.

The fires were out by now, but she could smell the lingering fumes–those of burnt grass and burnt bodies–forcing her to scrunch her nose in disgust. She'd seen all of this before, smelt it all, heard it all, but it still made her feel sick. It was hell, the aftermath of battle. So hellish was that lingering feeling of death, the echoes of screams.

In the distance she could hear the clopping from horses and the scrapes of sheathed swords in the distance; reinforcements had come. But they would not realise their futility until they got to the battlefield, for they would only be met with silence.

Dawn was here, reflecting off the blood-specked grass. She saw the deep crimson of the soldiers' uniforms as they travelled into the empty valley. They stopped in the middle. One by one, the men split off to search for survivors. At seeing this, the girl limped slowly in the opposite direction, not wanting to get seen. She heard a horse's hooves behind her, steadily getting louder. She struggled to walk away, grunting at the effort. No matter how hard she tried, she wasn't fast enough. The horse was faster. It stopped in front of her, and she looked up, seeing the armour-clad boot of a soldier rested on the stirrup of the saddle. She hesitantly looked up to see the shining metal of a helmet. The soldier looked at her before riding off. She could hear him yelling, yelling that he's found a survivor. She was scared. She didn't want to be taken again.

The soldier came back, this time with another. They looked at the girl before taking her wrists and forcing the sword out of her grip. One soldier took the sword, while the other tied her hands behind her back with a rope. She was roughly lifted up onto the back of the horse, stomach pressed flat against it. She felt a pull in her hands as he tied the rope to the saddle. Both soldiers took off, riding to rendezvous with the rest of their force.

"Is she the only survivor? We haven't found any others anywhere. They're all dead," a man said, his helmet under his arm. He had hazel eyes and wavy brown hair that didn't quite reach his sharp jawline. His slightly tanned skin accentuated the scars on his face.

"Yes, Commander. She is the only survivor, but I'm afraid she's not an Asphenian soldier," the man in front of her said.

"Very well then. We'll take her to the king and decide what he's going to do with her." With that, they rode off, the orange light of the dawn behind them. 

\-------

She fell asleep, bored, still on the back of the horse. She had tried to make conversation with the soldiers, but she would only end up going into a coughing fit. Even if she could speak, she knew they would ignore her. Her ribs ached; they had removed her breastplate as to not harm the horse, yet the horse's bones ended up digging into her rib cage every time it moved its legs. They were finally out of the mountains, now travelling through a dense forest. She wasn't sure how all the soldiers fit in the forest, but she didn't question it.

The journey was slow; the soldiers were doing their best to avoid tree roots as to prevent the horses from falling. Every now and then, a whispering breeze would wash through the forest, causing the men to shiver. She could feel it, the magic in the forest. Everyone knew magic was banned in most of the Northern continent, but the monarchs could not control the magical creatures of the land. Their magic was beautiful, inimitable. Nearly everyone was born with some sort of magic–usually one of elemental type, like fire, water, air, or earth. Most people were born with a weak version of one of those. However, some people were born with extensions of that, or completely different powers in and of themselves.

Of the four main elements, water was the most common, followed by air and earth, then fire. It was rare on the Northern continent, but on the southern continent, a lot of people get a healing power, capable of healing almost anything before death with practice. Some lucky–or unlucky–people got the rarer powers, such as lightning and poison affinity, which were generally known to cause harm. There were many other variations and combinations, both weak and strong, of the elements, but it was almost always a combination of parents' and ancestors' powers.

On a completely different level, there were those that were born of Shadow and Light. It was so rare that it was said there would only be one person born of each, every thousand years. It was prophesised that these two were fated to fight for the sakes of their kingdoms.

While these powers were powerful in and of themselves, the power that was perhaps the weakest of them all, was nature. Nature affinity was blessed to those tied to nature, hence why the forest was so full of it. While weak on its own, together it provided a strong magic–a formidable power–so powerful its aura could be felt flowing in the breeze.

The soldiers were skittish in the forest, intimidated by its vast size and feeling. They were scared–scared of the magic, of the creatures. They would never admit it, but they were relieved when they saw the other side of the forest – a grassy meadow leading to the kingdom of Asphenia. It could almost be called beautiful, if not for the sound of picks scraping against stone. She could see it–Illyia–the salt mines of Asphenia, guarded closely by armed soldiers. As soon as she saw it, she knew. She knew that she would not be free in this country. She knew that as soon as she stepped foot into the castle, the king would ship her off to the mines, for her to be surrounded by traitors and murderers and war prisoners. It was fated.

\-------

The castle loomed above her, its stone majesty set above the city below it, the path leading to it guarded by numerous soldiers. The other soldiers had left at the entrance of the city, presumably to go to the barracks. Instead, with her were the two soldiers who first found her, and the commander, backs straightened during the ride through the city. She knew she would have numerous bruises on her ribs from hours of laying over the back of the horse, but she couldn't do anything to prevent it.

Once they got to the castle doors, the soldiers got off the horses, one stopping to untie the girl. Guards appeared from a nearby stable to lead the three horses away. Two more guards pushed the heavy wooden doors open to reveal a large corridor, walls lined with windows. As they walked through the halls and up and down sets of stairs, she could tell that the soldiers were trying to disorientate her. She didn't tell them that they were just familiarising her with the building. She could see the path in her head, chuckling to herself about the daftness of the soldiers.

On the way to the throne room, they met up with another man. He was well dressed, his deep blue jacket trimmed with gold thread, worn over a white laced shirt. The girl could see the royal crest stitched onto the breast pocket. He wore black trousers and dark brown boots that went up mid-shin. His deep blue eyes were complemented by black hair that almost reached his shoulders. His hand rested on the hilt of a sword underneath his jacket.

The three soldiers each lifted a gloved hand to the left side of their chest, their left arms held by their sides.

"Thank you, soldiers. The king is waiting for us in the throne room," the man said in a smooth voice.

\-------

The doors to the throne room perplexed the girl. They were made of glass, a deep, blood-red glass that she could almost see through. As they opened, the girl noticed the man situated at the throne at the end of the room. He was smiling at her softly as she noticed the crown that adorned his head. The king. She did not bow to this man.

The four men flanking her side all went down to their knees, bowing their heads in the presence of the king. His smile faltered for a split second before it righted itself. His hand twitched on the arm of the throne, and a man emerged from the shadows in the corner of the room. He stood behind the girl and place his hand on her shoulder.

She was startled for a second when she felt the pressure from the man's hand pushing her down to her knees. His hand lifted and she let out a breath she didn't realise she'd been holding. But her relief was short-lived. The man gripped the back of her head and pushed it down, forcing her forehead to smash against the stone floor. She felt a warm substance pool around her forehead.

She grunted as pain shot from her head. The man's hand lifted again, and she heard quiet footsteps moving away from her.

"You may rise," came a warm voice. She lifted her head to see a kind smile on the king's face. She grimaced. The king spoke again, "Is this a survivor?"

"Well, sir, she is the survivor of the Battle of Alrich. Everyone else–on both sides of the battle–was found deceased," It was another man who spoke this time. He still wore his helmet, so she couldn't see his face, "She had possession of this sword," he held up the sword she had held and walked towards the king.

"She did, did she?" The king hummed as he accepted the sword from the soldier. He turned it over in his hands and narrowed his eyes at the blood-crusted symbols on the sword. The girl noticed the flash of recognition in his eyes, "What's your name, girl?"

The girl looked down at the floor. She stayed silent.

"Speak up, girl!" The king yelled and cleared his throat. She looked up slightly to see the king's face morph from angry to kind again, "Please, tell us your name."

The girl looked up fully, shaking, but her voice was confident, "Orlin. Thyria Orlin."

The king smirked, losing his kind demeanour. It was the kind of smirk that told Thyria: _I know who you are, girl. Don't think you can just hide from me._ It gave her chills down her spine. He looked towards the guards nodding his head. He only said four, simple words, "Send her to Illyia."

At this, the guards nodded and dragged the girl by the rope holding her, back out through the glass doors and through the castle.

\-------

The other guards had left for the barracks, leaving her stuck with the man who had introduced himself as the Captain of the Royal Guard.

Every step was dragging out, seemingly slower the closer they got to the mines. The girl was grateful for the extra horse they had taken from the castle stables. At least this time she could sit comfortably on the horse, holding the reins while her hands were tied this time in front of her body. The rope that held her was held by the blue-coated man riding the horse in front.

Illyia was coming closer.

The clopping hooves from the horses attracted the mine's guards' attention. They stood straighter at the sight of the Captain, but relaxed when they saw the prisoner behind him.  
When they reached the entrance to the mines, Thyria was pulled off the horse and held up. One guard held her wrists while another untied the accursed roped binding them. The man left and came back with a pair of shackles attached to a chain and attached them around her ankles.

The man left and once again came back with another shackle–larger this time–and clasped it around Thyria's neck. She shivered at the cold touch of the metal. Iron, she noticed. Iron was known to interfere with magic, thus disabling any prisoner's use of magic. It wasn’t like she had any magic to quell in the first place.

The girl flinched as the chain was pulled, forcing her to be led into the barely lit mines. Inside the mines the walls were lined with prisoners, the chains attached to their necks and legs attached to each other. Each prisoner was hacking away at the wall with a pick, digging into the stone.

As she walked through, prisoners would look back at her in pity, giving her sad looks. But those looks were interrupted by the cracking of whips against their backs, tearing open blistered skin and exposing their backs.

Thyria was pulled through the mine until they got to a newer section with less prisoners. It felt like they had been walking for hours. When the guard dragged her there, he hooked up the ends of the chains to a nearby prisoner. Thyria could hear the clinking metal as he dropped the loose chain on the ground. She noticed that the Captain of the Guard had left her at the entrance. This made her growl in anger. _He was too disgusted to even step foot in here, yet he left me and all these other prisoners alone._

Hatred sparked in Thyria as she picked up a pick that was leaning against the wall and started hitting it against the hard, stone wall. The odour of blood, sweat and human waste attacked her nostrils, causing her to cringe in disgust. Thyria did not know how she was going to survive a life sentence in here; the majority of people sent here lasted barely a month – two at most.

 _Welcome to hell,_ Thyria thought to herself.

**Author's Note:**

> I understand that since this is the first chapter, there might be some confusion. For anyone that doesn't know or hasn't figured it out:
> 
> Atsin is the God of the Moon/Moonlight
> 
> Illyia is a well-known salt mine that uses slaves for labor.


End file.
